


And I'll Be Dead Before the Day is Done

by geminisyrup



Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD, Ballet, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Body Modification, Character Death, Cults, Dark Academia AU, Delusions, Descent into Madness, Friendship, Gen, Hallucinations, Horror, Insanity, LITERALLY, Major Character Injury, Mystery, Occult, Psychological Drama, Psychological Horror, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Song: Seven Devils (Florence + The Machine), Suicide, Supernatural Elements, Suspiria AU, Tags May Change, Title from a Florence + the Machine Song, Violence, Witchcraft, dream is markos, fundy is patricia, i rewatched the shining can you tell, instead of a war criminal technos just really good at dancing lol, jschlatt is the literal personification of death, just general fuckery, lowkey, rich people discrimination, techno is a father figure for tommy, techno is blanc, tommy is dakota johnson, tommy is susie, tubbo is sara, wilbur is olga, yep we're doing this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:49:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29093022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geminisyrup/pseuds/geminisyrup
Summary: Tommy paced the room, fiddling with the drawstring of his pants. He kept adjusting his tank, deciding to just tuck it into his waistline. He sat down to stretch before the man got back. Reaching over his leg, his spine makes an ungodly popping noise that would make a school teacher faint. At just 16, he was a prodigy, applying and being accepted into multiple dance schools across the country. Schooling wasn’t for him though, he had his eyes on something else. His confidence got him inside one of the most prestigious dance companies in London. But, his skill would be what gets him in.___The events of the Dream SMP but it takes place in a cursed dance company. (Suspiria AU)
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Kudos: 12





	1. Auditions and First Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> tw // hallucinations (this will be applicable throughout the story)

In the southernmost district of London, a boy stands drenched in front of a Southwark dance company. Above his head, the words _“Dream SMP”_ are embedded into the brick. The boy’s hair was matted to his face. His cheaply printed map was completely unreadable in his hands, not that he needed it now. Across the street, a couple hurry into a storefront to avoid getting soaked. The devil decided to truly rain hell on this blessed day. He tucked his map away and pulled his fleece coat closer as he ran up the slippery concrete steps. The front doors refused to budge. A pit in his stomach formed as he fumbled for his papers. The only items on his person were in his crossbody handbag, which was gifted to him by his mother years before. He reread his acceptance letter three-fold, thumb dragging against the address at the top. “ _Thomas,”_ that’s him. That’s _him_. He was supposed to be here. He tried the doors again, and miraculously they opened.

He stumbled into the large empty lobby. Wide and open, the waft of cold autumn air smelt up the room. A crimson red carpet rode up to a set of double staircases. The stoneware was worn down from years of use. Above head, the staircase led to stories and stories of rooms. Thomas, preferring the nickname Tommy, had to lurch his head to see the ceiling. A chandelier hung there, shrouding everything in light golden glow. _Old money,_ he thought to himself, _old old money._ In the dead silence of the space, a light tapping of glass was enough to startle him. There just in front of him, stood a man in a purple felt suit. He lightly jogged down the stairs, looking almost comical. As he approached, Tommy could see him more clearly. The man was short, _very_ short, and looked vaguely aged. He had round pointed eyes in a dark brown, his black hair was shagged over part of his face. His thin lips were pulled into a subtle smile. “Thomas?”

“Tommy,” he corrected.

“ _Tooommy,_ welcome. Right this way.” This mystery man led him down a dark hallway. The only noise was the sound of his wet shoes squeaking against the floor. He would have laughed at the awkwardness if he wasn’t so anxious. At the end, a door stood cracked open. “I’ll have someone lend an outfit for you, you can wait in here.” Tommy knew, this was rich person speak for _I know you’re poor as shit._ He sighed and walked in, letting the door latch behind him. There was a single exposed lightbulb above him, shining everything in a nauseating yellow. He took his flats off so as to not ruin the patterned carpet. A single body mirror leaned against a wall, poorly hiding a bruise in the drywall. A clothing rack filled with different costumes meant for dance was placed next to a bench. He happily sat down after walking for so long. Slumping against the wall, he heard faint drumming from what had to be hallways away. Through all the anxiety and sweat, he is reminded why he’s here. Running his fingers through the different fabrics, dust visibly flies off. The door creaks open, and a pile of clothes are dropped on the carpet. He left his own belongings by his shoes as he dressed himself. They had given him a pair of gray sweatpants and a tank top. He happily took the change of clothes, using his other shirt to wring out his hair.

Tommy paced the room, fiddling with the drawstring of his pants. He kept adjusting his tank, deciding to just tuck it into his waistline. He sat down to stretch before the man got back. Reaching over his leg, his spine makes an ungodly popping noise that would make a school teacher faint. At just 16, he was a prodigy, applying and being accepted into multiple dance schools across the country. Schooling wasn’t for him though, he had his eyes on something else. His confidence got him inside one of the most prestigious dance companies in London. But, his skill would be what gets him _in._

He took a few deep breaths, grounding himself before he got enraptured in his thoughts. Before he could fully bring himself down, his guide walked in. Tommy shot up into a standing position to greet him, a surprised noise was made instead of a greeting. The man politely ignored that. “Please, come with me. We will bring your stuff to you later.” There was a missing sentence in that statement which unnerved Tommy.

“ _Great._ ” The man led him back through the hallway. Tommy took a moment to admire the opulence of the lobby once more. Up the marked stairs, laid tables with silk tablecloths holding porcelaine statement pieces. Tapestries showing extravagant scenes of ecstatic dance hung out of view of the main lobby. He would usually scoff at such a display, but felt himself enraptured in the show of it all. The man took notice.

“You like the decor?” Tommy nodded violently in an effort to be as polite as possible. “When Techno first brought it all in, I thought he was insane. I mean, look at all this.” He gestured grandly. “But, I came around to liking it eventually, it matches the carpet at least.” The decor looked years and years old, Tommy was shocked to hear that this was all new. He was stopped and herded into a windowless room with a single desk. The floor looked freshly varnished and there was a single cassette player in the corner. At the desk sat two other men, dressed colorfully in blue and green suits. Tommy didn’t like the way they stared at him and refused to make eye contact, bowing politely instead. 

“Um, you mentioned Technoblade, will he be here for my audition?” He dug his nails into his palm when he heard how pushy he sounded. Tommy had every dance instructor he had throughout his childhood write him a letter of recommendation to his idol, the well ordained choreographer Technoblade; in hope he would write back. He was a huge part of why he was here in the first place; it would only make sense for him to be here.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Technoblade is very busy right now.” He let him down as gently as he could, like a bowling ball falling on a baby’s hand. “We would have him here if we could.” Tommy nodded, hiding his disappointment with pulling out his cassette tape. Head hung low, he trudged over to the player, but was stopped by the tallest of the three men.

“We prefer our dancers to perform _without_ music. You can keep count in your head, right?” Tommy hated how condescending he sounded, but handed his cassette over anyway. Standing in the center of the wooden floor, he took his socks off and cast them aside. He finally looked up at the three men. His ambassador gave him a light smile, while the other two’s eyes bore into him. Clasping his hands together, he began to count. _One, two, three, four._ He swings his arm above his head and begins. The only sound in the room is Tommy pounding his chest and throwing his elbows to the hardwood. He was used to getting rug burns on carpet and grass stains in fields. If he had hurt himself with such a violent gusto, it would be hard to tell by how fast he’s moving. His back arches up, creating an ‘S’ shape with his body, seemingly just to show off his flexibility. He spins his body onto his knees, crawling backwards on his fingertips. Throwing his body back into standing, he spins towards the seated men with the elan of a trained ballet dancer. Watching the ferocity and velocity of which he moved was enough to make anyone nauseous just by looking. He grabbed towards the desk, bringing the movement back behind his head. Using the momentum built, he turns his motion into a pirouette. Counting _one, two, three, four._

In the corner of his eye, a flash of pink catches him. He stumbles and drops his arms. There, in the corner stood _the_ Technoblade, looking at Tommy with a piqued interest. He is dressed in a fine leather blazer, underneath a white blouse which is stark against his pink braided hair. He can’t read his expression from this far away. Tommy raises his arms back up to continue, but falters. He forgot the rest of his routine. He looks at the other men, who are whispering amongst themselves with no reassurance. 

The room he was led to was dimly lit, with cushioned chairs that were so soft he could hibernate then and there. His face burned hot enough to light a candle with embarrassment. He made it so far, only to falter in front of his idol, his hero. He could make a run for it. Grab his bag and steal their clothing. Run back home and fall back into the arms of his father. Mr. Quackity, he insisted to be called that, slinked in with Tommy’s clothing and bag. And just like that; it was over for him. His chest swells with a heavy breath. “Tommy? I just spoke with Technoblade.” He rubbed his sweaty palms on his shaking knees, he thought he might vomit on Quackity’s embroidered suit. “He loved your audition.”

“W-What?”

“Yeah,” Quackity smiled for Tommy. He sat down on the edge of the seat across the ghost white boy, nodding. “Yeah,” he whispers, “he wants you to move in as soon as possible.”

“But what about-”

“Don’t worry about money or tuition, we have a free room for you. We recently lost a dancer under unfortunate circumstances, Techno’s been looking for a replacement pretty desperately.” If that was a backhanded compliment, Tommy didn’t notice. His hands fly up to his face to stop the tears from cascading down. There he was, in a small cubicle miles away from home, being accepted into his dream dance company. He was going to be performing here everyday for the next year. Quackity happily handed him a box of tissues. “I’ll have a fellow dancer help you to your room, so you don’t have to pay another night for your hotel.” He clasps his hands around the others shaking fingers as he stands. “ _Que seas bendecido._ ” Tommy blinked as Quackity left, not quite understanding that last part.

“Thank you,” he rubbed his eyes with the tissue until they were red. He grabbed his bag and pulled out the pamphlet he was given months before. “ _The Dream SMP Dance Company: London._ ” Tommy had made it.

Back in the lobby, he was dressed back in his still damp street clothes. He stood above the stairs, facing the doors while he waited for his guide. Quackity said they may be a little late coming in. Tommy took the free time to really explore this open hall. From the way the light shone from the doors, the only windowed space here, it had to be morning by now. Marble railings were covered in a thick layer of dust. He pulled his trenchcoat closer as a breeze flew through, rattling his bones. Across from him was a mirror that went up to the ceiling, which was polished to a glistening shine. 

He slowly approached the funhouse mirror, arms wrapped around himself. It distorted his figure, reminding him of old childhood playrooms and carnival bathrooms. The golden glow of the chandelier above outlined his face in a stark contrast. Staring intensely, he dragged his fingernail down his cheek. Tommy double-checked his eyes, blue eyes, _blue blue blue_. Why must he check? Why would they change? He wouldn't notice if they did anyway. The reflection lapped over itself as he leaned in closer. His breath left small condensation spots just above his nose. Grasping at his shoulders, he is taken out of this trance by the front doors slamming shut. He glared down at the emerging figure and backed away from the mirror, leaning his head to get a better look. It was a boy around his age, and he was completely drenched like Tommy was coming in. He looked up at the other boy, rushing over to the stairs.

Tommy walked over to greet him at the top of the staircase. He clearly came from money, dressed in fine linen with an embroidered collar on his coat. A shag of dripping brown hair which curled slightly framed his face. He walks with an intentional awkwardness, downplaying his clear confidence in the polite way he conducts himself. With a rounded face and green eyes, he looks up at Tommy with a dopey smile. “Thomas?”

“ _Tommy._ ”

“ _Tommy._ ” He mimicked him. “Sorry I’m late, when it storms like this it feels like _everyone_ in London has to take a taxi.” Tommy’s nose scrunched up as he smiled. The boy raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

“Sorry, when you say everyone in London, I just realized that includes me now. I live in London now.” He laughed and the boy smiled warmly. “What’s your name?”

“Tubbo. My name is Tubbo.” Tommy had to stop himself from visibly reacting to such a unique name. He didn’t question it and resigned his thoughts to a simple scowl of _rich people…_ “Can I take you to your new room?”

“Yes, _please._ I need to lie down for a very long time.” Tubbo leaned his head closer, Tommy answered. “I had to walk all the way here from Camberwell,” Tubbo’s expression was one of pure shock, “it was faster. I don’t have a bus pass anyway.”

“My lord. Well, let’s get you in a bed. Follow me.” Tubbo took him up the second set of stairs. Above, footsteps could be heard walking the hallways. The upstairs smelt of old books and what Tommy thought was frankincense. The wallpaper was a forest green, with faded golden accents. Behind the stairs, the wall was completely torn open with wooden panels sticking out. Various dancers walked the floor, most still waking up. A blonde girl waved and Tubbo waved back with a giggle. Walking down the corridor, an older man stood in a corner next to a telephone. He was hunched over and whispering in a language Tommy didn’t recognize. 

“Hexen, sage ich dir. Sie sind _Hexen._ Ich kann nicht…” He growled, quieting himself when he saw Tubbo walk by. Tommy thought he saw tears in his eyes and turned to Tubbo for answers.

“That’s Wilbur. Don’t worry, he’s mostly harmless.” After walking a few paces away, Tubbo stopped him in front of a closed door. “Do you know why you’re here?” He whispered, Tommy leaned in to hear him. “My friend, Fundy. Uh, he disappeared a few days ago. He said that he was having _family issues_.” Tubbo rolled his eyes, and Tommy was more caught up on his name. “I’ve been worried sick, and Wilbur’s hasn’t taken it well. No one knows what to do. He used to stay in your new room.” He opened the door, and let Tommy walk in first. Everything was washed in a calming blue hue. The bed, with fresh sheets laid at the end, was on a metal frame. There was a single mirror and a bureau. Tubbo closed the door behind him. “Techno has avoided talking about it, and it’s been driving Wilbur mad. He was sort of a father figure for him, so this is very stressful for him. If he’s gone into hiding, I just wanna know that he’s okay.” He sat on the edge of the bed, Tommy sitting down next to him.

“Is he a good dancer?”

“Yeah, he’s crazy good. And an even better friend.”

“Well if he’s as good as you say,” Tommy patted Tubbo’s shoulder in comfort. “I’m sure you have nothing to worry about then.” Tubbo smiled and nodded. He walked to the door, heel dragging against the hardwood.

“I’m just across the hall. Don’t be afraid to scream bloody murder if you need anything.” He laughed and shut the door with a flourish, leaving Tommy to tend to his thoughts and belongings. The first thing he noted was how bad the wallpaper was peeling in the corner, the second thing being that there were no windows. Completely boxed in, with a metal door to top it off. But he had his own bathroom that belonged to him and _only_ him now. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and he looks like a walking corpse. But there’s a smile on his face and he was fully content with sitting here forever. Putting his head in his hands, he whispers a quiet prayer of thankfulness. And for a moment, he thought he could hear breathing responding back to him.


	2. Accusations and Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur takes an L.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw // graphic descriptions of body horror and gore, violent suicide 
> 
> this is where things go from generally creepy to actual horror, luv you and thanks for reading <3

The studio was alive this morning. While hell poured down outside, Tommy was safe inside the dance hall, surrounded by his newfound peers. They circled around on the floor to stretch together. Gossip was spread in a multitude of different languages. The only one that wasn’t laughing was the quiet Wilbur. Tall and hunched, he had a prudish face with brown eyes and a light brush of freckles. He was the oldest there, but not the tallest. The tallest was Ranboo, don’t get Tommy started on  _ that  _ name, he was a kind giant and didn’t like eye contact that much. He was talking to Eret, a brunette with a wonky smile and a sweet tone. Next to him was the fiery blonde Niki. There was a space between Niki and Wilbur, where the missing boy that was spoken of only in whispers was supposed to be. 

Before Tommy could dwell on this boy he had never met, Techno and Quackity walked in. “Good morning everyone.” Techno moved to close the curtains, while Quackity sat down on a metal chair in the corner. Techno was wearing a black turtleneck with his pink hair pinned up, while Quackity was in a white blouse and high waisted pants. A third man walked in, who Tommy recognized as Bad, Techno’s assistant. He had with him a pretty large cassette player, which he placed on the table in the corner. The group moved and sat down by the mirrored wall. Techno stood in the center of the room, addressing the group directly. “Everyone, this is Tommy, he’s our newest dancer here. We are  _ very  _ lucky to have him here, and please, don’t bully him too hard.”

“Thanks.” Tubbo patted his shoulder. Everyone was all smiles except Wilbur, who looked more irritated than indifferent.

“Aight.” Techno shifted on his legs. “For rehearsal today, we are continuing with our rendition of  _ Ender _ . Tubbo, you will be taking Wilbur’s part, so he may perform the protagonist of this dance. Tommy, you can join in at any time.”

Wilbur was struck on the shoulder by Tubbo, misjudging the space between them. Tommy watched with intensity and instead of continuing, Wilbur let out a noise of pure frustration. Techno walked over and put his hand on his shoulder. “You’re missing the beat. You need to aim where you think they’ll be-”

“I  _ am _ .” Wilbur held the back of his head with his hands, bending down. “This is shit! This is so much shit!” He stormed off, Quackity letting out a dramatic sigh. 

“Y’know what? It’s fine. Everyone take five.” Techno dismissed the group, everyone happily taking the break, except Wilbur. He didn’t care about the rehearsal, he was getting frustrated at something else. 

“I can’t believe this shit. You can’t even respect your  _ own  _ lies.” Quackity was about to interject this, but Techno stopped him with a wave. 

“Let him bark.” He whispered, turning to a pacing Wilbur. The group watched this spectacle play out warily. “Wilbur, Fundy’s gone. We don’t know why. If he is in hiding, there’s no way for anyone of us to know.”

“He would have told someone,” Wilbur’s voice ached. 

“He trusted nobody-”

“Nuh-uh, nuh-uh!” His voice cracked. “He trusted  _ me! _ ”

“Why don’t you know where he is then? If you’re  _ so  _ confident.”

“You’re such a filthy manipulator. He trusted you not to-”

“Quackity, please bring Wilbur up to his room.”

“No, Quackity, call  _ Wilbur  _ a taxi. Because  _ he  _ is getting the fuck out of this  _ höllenloch! _ ” Wilbur pushed past the short man to get to the door. There, a row of everyone’s dance flats lay discarded. He grabs a random pair and throws them at Techno, which fall at his feet pathetically. “ _ Teufel! _ ” He screeched and stormed out. Tubbo scoots next to Tommy, exchanging worried looks with everyone else. The one to break the heavy silence is Quackity, who lets out a violent cackle at Wilbur’s outburst. Techno turned to address Tommy directly, mouthing an earnest  _ sorry _ before turning to everyone else.

“I’m very sorry for that. I’ll talk to Wilbur later about,” he gestured vaguely, “ _ this _ .” Quackity sat back down, a smirk on his lips. “Well, if we are all alright to continue, who can dance the protagonist? Ranboo? Niki?” The two looked at each other, then at Tubbo and Tommy.

“I-I don’t know enough of it yet.”

“Yeah, me neither, sorry.” Niki looked dejected, her arms slumped between her knees. Neither Tubbo or Eret spoke, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Finally, Tommy spoke up.

“I can dance it.”

Wilbur pulled his bag closer to his chest, rushing down the countless corridors. His face burned as red as a candlelight.  _ Damn that choreographer. _ All he had to do was get out of here and find Fundy. He would know what to do. He leaned against a column to steady himself, looking out a window. The light from the outside burned his eyes, he reeled back and kept walking. He stumbled down the hall, his vision blurring at the edges. Is this how Fundy felt? Disoriented, like he had been spun around with a blindfold placed upon him. Unable to support himself, he put his weight on a closed metal door. It opened behind him, causing him to fall into the pitch black room.

“I know I can.”

“Tommy,” Techno stared down at him, his lips in a fine line.

“It was in a documentary I saw. I’ve watched it a thousand times ten-fold.”

“ _ Tommy. _ ”

“I also saw it live. Three times.” Everyone else there cringed for him. The boy with the phoenix-esque ego was burning up in front of them. Techno let out a long sigh, stepping back and gesturing for Tommy to stand up.

“Well, let’s see it then.” He said. Quackity looked less than impressed. Niki and Ranboo were whispering something under their breaths. Techno led Tommy to the middle of the room. “Let me see your hands.” He flipped his palms up, digging his thumbnail into the centers. Tommy sucked a breath through his teeth, but didn’t falter. Drops of blood slip out underneath his nails. Techno guides Tommy’s palms together, stepping away and wiping his thumbs on his pants. “If you feel ill, don’t be afraid to stop.” Weird thing to say, but Tommy didn’t question his teacher.

The lights of the mirrored studio lit up, fully blinding the brunette who was sprawled on the floor. He dragged his fingers against the mirrored wall, leaving large smear marks. Banging on the wall, he was unable to find a doorknob to get him out of there. Wilbur wobbled onto his feet. He just needed to find Fundy. Spinning around, he was unable to escape his warped reflection. His eyes flickered between the different figures that mirrored him.

Tommy balanced on his left foot. Spinning like a dreidel, his leg kicks out every few turns. He stopped to lunge into himself, bringing his arms over his head. Niki leaned over to whisper in Tubbo’s ear. “What do you think?”

“Hmm?”

“Of  _ him _ .” 

“I don’t know. He just kinda, showed up a few nights ago.” Tommy threw his leg over his head in a snap kick, rolling onto the floor in a fluid motion. “All I know is that Technoblade really likes him. And I mean, I like him too,” he shrugs, “but I understand why Wilbur’s so upset about him just showing up.”

Wilbur is ferociously thrown against the wall. The violence of the motion was enough to displace his jaw. His hands flew up to cradle his face, crying out. Before he could cry for any kind of help, a blow to the neck causes him to hit his head against the hardwood. His windpipe completely crushed, a pathetic mewl is all that came out. He attempted to sit back up, his shoulder giving out and dislocating under his weight.

Tommy spun in an informal pirouette. Quackity paced around the performing boy, arms crossed and nodding like a proud father. Tommy threw his hands to the sky, throwing his body forward. His dance was beautifully grotesque. It was clear he was putting every part of him into this makeshift performance. Tubbo looked up at Techno, who had a melancholy look on his face. Normally, he would love a showoff like this. Glancing over at a nauseous looking Eret, he wondered what was different this time.

Wilbur had made it to a somewhat standing position. Grabbing at the reflection, he is thrown into the center of the room by an unseen force. Falling onto his already dislocated arm, it was crushed behind his back with the weight of his fall. With his throat completely caved in, his croaks for mercy went unheard.

Tommy held his arms in front of him, his fingers laced together. He rotated his hands in a simple mudra. He brought that to the side of his torso, pivoting on it.

A new pain is felt, in his abdomen. His ribs made a loud popping noise, one after another. And he could do nothing, but cry and try to scream for help. It was pure agony. He laid on his back, on top of his broken arm. One of his ribs jutted out of his chest as his spine arched up.

Tommy drags his fingers across the hardwood. He swung his arms above his head and brought them back down to the floor. He pushes his body back up to stand, but doesn’t make it. He sits on his knees, pressing his head against the floor to avoid throwing up right there. 

Wilbur hunches over as muscle separates itself from his spine. He is violently thrown up to stand, but falls and hits his dislocated jaw. He feels his torso twist inhumanly as he is pulverized from the inside. Tears stream down his face and he is left to wait for his own death. Finally, a single croak comes out of his ruptured throat. And he screams. 

Techno snaps his fingers at Quackity in a subtle motion, who closes the doors. The two men rush to the boy's side. Tubbo, Niki, Ranboo, and Eret are left staring at the spectacle. “It’s okay, you’re not the first person to lose himself in that dance. But, I’m afraid collapsing _ is _ a hazard.”

“I didn’t collapse.”

“You’re on the floor. And last time I checked,” he glanced up at Quackity for a moment, “that’s not where the dance ends.” The two grab his arms and help him up. “Tubbo,” he snaps his head up, “take Tommy to his room. So he can rest for the rest of the day.”

“I thought I was going to vomit.” He gladly accepted the support from Tubbo, but acted like he didn’t need it.

“Don’t worry about it. We’re all very impressed. I’ll have George send for your lunch.” He stated almost robotically. Techno waited for the studio to be fully cleared before addressing Quackity. “I’m surprised. Wilbur made that piece look agonizing to perform.”

His body was left completely mangled on the floor, but not a single drop of blood was spilled. Five men stood around Wilbur’s body. Each held a large silver hook in their hands, except Techno. He let out a long sigh. “There was really no way for him to know what he was doing.” Quackity comforted him.

“He’s a natural.” Techno added, looking more delighted at the spectacle than disgusted. He gestured towards the door, walking over to hold it open. Quackity stepped forward and hung his hook over Wilbur’s crooked arm, lightly nudging it. A single finger twitched.

“George, Sapnap,” they both stepped forward, “Bad?” The fifth man stood a ways away. He held the hook close to his chest, lightly drumming his fingers on it. Rocking on his feet, he trudged towards Wilbur’s body. One after another, they dug their hooks into different parts of his body, using them as leverage to lift him. A single raspy breath was all that was heard. Bad looked like he was on the verge of tears, while George and Sapnap looked more inconvenienced than anything. The studio smelt of formaldehyde as they carried the young man’s body through the hidden door. His chest heaved and his eyes flickered wildly between the four men transporting him. Smears on the mirrored walls were all that was left as Techno closed the door behind them.

The kitchen and dining room were alive with banter and laughter. The table was packed with every director of the  _ SMP Dance Company.  _ Techno leaned against the window opened for the steam from the stove, smoking his third cigarette that evening. Sapnap and George were arguing about something, while Antfrost tried to keep the peace. He reflected on his new recruit. So quickly he has risen the ranks, with Techno’s help. He was charmed by the boy’s seemingly unending work ethic. Even though he lacked discipline and often spoke what he was thinking, his temper led his thoughts most of the time. Quackity waved his hand at him, pulling him out of his thoughts. He put out his cigarette, pacing over. George, who was often the face of the company while Techno was away, looked disgusted. Sapnap had whispered a dirty joke in his ear, and was laughing wildly and without shame. Quackity called for silence by tapping two glasses together. Techno sat down at the end of the table as he addressed the group. “Alright, it’s a new season. We will now be voting on our leader once again.” He spoke in a faux professionalism.

“Isn’t this a little informal?”

“No one asked George.” Sapnap swallowed another cackle, tears swelling up in his eyes. “Okay, we’re going to go around the hall, starting with the left side.” His fingers shook with the fury of a man who’s been awake for way longer than any man should be. “Antfrost?”

“Techno.”

“George?”

“Dream.”

“Sapnap?”

“Dream.”

“Bad?” Attention is drawn to the silent man. He had his arms crossed over his chest and looked paler than a ghost. The light from the windows glared off of his glasses. He had been completely silent that entire day, only whispering something in Antfrost’s ear when he first got there. 

“Um, he abstains.” Antfrost cut through the silence, speaking for him so that they could carry on. Quackity didn’t like that answer, but carried on anyway.

“It’s three for Dream then,” Quackity tallied his vote, “and one for Techno.” The losing party was stoic at the other side of the table. “Until this winter,  _ aclamar Dream! _ ” The rest of the room nodded in agreement, besides Bad, and began drinking and chatting again. Quackity sat down to join them.

“Do you guys really think  _ his _ new plan will work?” Antfrost grumbled. “It almost killed the last boy.”

“Fundy was unwilling. That’s why it didn’t work, right Techno?” Quackity asked.

“It had to be more than just  _ that. _ Right Techno?” Antfrost pushed. Techno seemed more interested in how his wine swirled in his glass then the argument in front of him. Sapnap speaks up.

“If Dream loses his last life before we find a replacement,  _ we  _ are all screwed.” The three continue to bicker their heads off. Bad sits in solitude in the corner. Even though he was right next to everyone, he looks completely detached from them.

“We still have time, there’s no need to run around like we’re chickens with our heads cut off.” Techno remedied. 

“But this idea that Dream has is dangerous for  _ us. _ We have already lost two potential patrons to this mess.” George huffed in retaliation. “I mean, we all saw Wilbur this morning. Right Antfrost?” He directed attention over to the other man. Instead of responding, Antfrost screamed and pointed at Bad. Across the table, Bad’s head slammed against the wood. Shocked into alarm, everyone looked over. Upon further inspection, which was just glancing over; his neck had been completely cut open by his own hand. Wine-colored blood soaked into the white tablecloth. The dining hall erupted. George yanked the steak knife out of his hand and dropped it on the floor, while Quackity jumped away like it was contagious. Techno ran over, pushing a shocked Sapnap. He cradled the dying man’s head in his hands. He let out a long sigh, taking a step back. Antfrost’s arm was frozen in a pointing state towards the body. Quackity didn’t stop screaming, holding his weight in the door frame of the kitchen. George held his hand over his mouth, blinking back tears. Sapnap just stared, completely distraught.

“Well,” Techno slid Bad’s chair back, letting his limp body fold over itself. Antfrost gasped sharply. “Someone call the janitor.” Sapnap’s brows furrowed at Techno’s nonchalance, but didn’t protest. They stood in silence as they listened to the blood drip onto the floor. No one dared to speak as Quackity shakily reached over to the telephone, dialing the downstairs for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: this is written using their minecraft/dream smp personas ofc, rpf is kinda weird ngl

**Author's Note:**

> Remember kids: You can't be historically inaccurate if you never set a historical time period.


End file.
